Of Grief and Chocolate
by TwoTrack
Summary: He wept and wept, the chocolate too sweet his mouth, too sweet...not caring even remotely now who was there to see him and what they really saw. That’s was all he was now, a broken man at the age of 23, with no one, no one....


**Of Grief and Chocolate**

**Rating: **K

**Genre: **Angst/Drama

**Summary: **That's was all he was now, a broken man at the age of 23, with no one, no one…. (Plot bunny from Remus's Nymph)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to Harry Potter.

* * *

"It's a tremendous investment, Mr. Weasley." The voice is deep and wobbly, making him think of fat. 

A rustle of cloth and a breath on his neck. "Ron…that's a lot of money."

He stands up, thinking idly that the plush chair will slowly inflate again. Not that _he's_ fat, it's just that kind of-

Beady black eyes in front of him. "Mr. Weasley?"

Oh. Right.

This meeting is just an event for him. He made up his mind long ago. Offering a half-smile, he extends his hand. "Yes."

* * *

It is cooler outside. He is displeased; he hasn't liked the cold for months. Not since… 

"Ron, hold on. Ron…."

He hears but doesn't care. She'll come, she always has, and always will. And when she doesn't, then he'll finally know he's alone, finally know that there isn't anyone else who cares and he can let go.

Ron Weasley thrusts his hands awkwardly into his coat. It is a sombre grey and doesn't suit him at all, but what does it matter? It's Muggle clothing and people haven't yet spared more than a second contemptuous look.

Lavender trots to catch up with him, taking a few steps for each of his strides. She has on a lilac suit and her own lavender cap perched on her head. A violet handbag dangles from her shoulder and she rummages in it, doing what he doesn't care to know.

She reaches him and he can tell she is smiling at him. He doesn't want to look; he knows exactly the awkwardness and pity he'll find. She _does_ do well concealing it in her voice as she exclaims how chilly it is.

Yes, it rather is, he replies automatically.

Now she'll be pursing her lips, looking down….

How does it feel to own the most popular sweet shop in the Wizarding World?

No different than anything else, really.

Is she getting annoyed with him? He thinks idly, cogitating what else she could bring up to tempt him into conversation.

She hunches her shoulders, rubbing them frantically and _Brr_-ing with her lips as she complains on how cold it is, and how nice it would be to have a warm Butterbeer….then she falls silent and he doesn't descry or wonder why, doesn't know the terrible look that came on his face at the mention of the drink he used to share with his two best friends, knowing only that this isn't the time to think of them, not now, not yet, so he pushes them from his mind but the look is still on his face, and he doesn't know and doesn't notice that she doesn't speak the rest of the way to his house.

* * *

Ron leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Would today be the day? Would he go down to the store, then, and buy the sweets, or would he stop at the door or the street before or his curb or the banister or even before leaving his own room, as he had before? 

For what else had he spent his life's earnings, which to any ordinary person would be a dozen fortunes, but to the Hero of the Last Battle, well….They had seen to it that he would be plentifully supplied.

Perhaps he shouldn't refer to it as his life's earnings, he mused. Why, a thousandth of what he now had would have made his family affluent….

His face closed and became tight. His manservant fidgeted slightly in the corner of his view, darting looks at him. Most people had house elves; but an eminent member of the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare would be rather hypocritical to own a team of house elves himself. Instead, various persons waited on him and managed his house; Squibs, adolescents that desired for jobs, Wizards with not much talent or those who wanted a part-time job. He was glad to roof them all; however, those who would be in his employment were required to wear a white wig; not to supply a look of importance, though he didn't object to that point, but so that in his own house he wouldn't catch a glimpse of a young raven-haired boy, or a girl with bushy hair and large front teeth….

"Have you need of anything, sir?" the man asked.

Ron looked at him and was glad when his gaze was met steadily. He would go mad without Gabriel here, beside him, night and day. He would go mad if he were to be left alone again.

"I'm going to the shop," he said abruptly, raising himself from his seat with an ungraceful move. He stepped toward the door, then looked at the fireplace and wondered if he could manage to Floo now. He wouldn't Apparate, hadn't Apparated for those months, not since-

"Sorry, Gabriel, er, do they have fireplace?"

"They do indeed, sir."

"Can you, uh, can you…."

"Shall I call for Mistress Brown?"

"No, no, leave her." He snapped, thinking of how she would cluck and fuss over his appearance. "Can you come with me?"

Gabriel's face was unperturbed. "Certainly."

Ron turned toward the fireplace then, and reached an unsteady hand toward the powder. He grasped it, not caring that he upset the container and half of what he had managed to grab fell through his hands, and threw the rest into the fireplace.

The flames, as always, roared to twice their height, sparkling deep green with flashes….

The green….

Flashing green light….

He cursed and spun toward the door, folding down into a crouch, his hands over his head and elbows on the ground. Gabriel did not move, make a sound, and wasn't very surprised when his master suddenly rose from his position and hurled himself into the fireplace with a cry. He took out a wand and cleaned the powder from the mantel, straightened the container and smoothed his robes before stepping into the flames, following his master.

* * *

He arrived to find a heavy silver pot swinging back at him, full of a rich dark brown liquid. He sidestepped it gracefully, only to find that his master hadn't been as prescient. Ron was standing in front of the fireplace, an ugly look on his face and oozing chocolate on his shoulders. 

"You didn't mention this is where they actually _make_ the chocolate," he glared at Gabriel, but it softened immediately. The man, as always, acquiesced without complaint, inclining his headat the same time he took out his wand to clean Ron's robes.

Ron waited till Gabriel had finished, then embraced the other man. No words were necessary as the two walked toward the front counters, Ron's arm still around his friend's shoulders. Gabriel didn't mind, he never had; he knew his master needed his help, his comfort, his presence without any demands on the servant's part. He could feel Ron trembling, could see the taut line of his mouth and the desperation on his face, that he would get through the shop.

He could imagine, losing his best friends and then going back to the place they'd visited most frequently, where their very presences could seep out of the walls and inhabit the other children there by metempsychosis.

They made their way to the counter, Ron stiff in Gabriel's right arm but his eyes roving.

The friendly checkout witch had just rung up three children, one with raven hair, another auburn and the last carrot. They giggled and walked swiftly to the door. Ron followed them with his intense gaze, craning his head, mouth slightly open.

"May I help you?" the young lady said pleasantly, although keeping her head at her register as she deposited the coins. Gabriel waited until she looked up with a poised smile, that quickly turned into one quizzical as she caught sight of Ron.

"Sir….how can I help you?" she asked, startled. Ron looked at her, but didn't see until Gabriel gently shook him.

"I…a bit of everything," he said then, swallowing and turning to look at the door again. The witch stayed in her place, obviously confused.

"Master…." Gabriel said quietly.

Ron frowned back at them. "Didn't you hear me? Some of everything. Er….a small order of everything."

"E-Everything?"

"Yes, yes! Everything in the bloody shop."

The young witch bowed her head and blushed. "Yes….of course…." She slid off her bench to another young lady and whispered urgently. The second woman hurried off to the back as the first returned.

"Sir…the order is too large…may we deliver it to your house?"

"No, I want it…Well, I mean, yes, but not to my house….Here, take it to the Three Broomsticks. Tell Madam Rosmerta to put it in the back and, and curtain it off for us…me. We'll pay her..."

The girl looked worried. "Sir, the Three Broomsticks is owned now by Mr. Toppsbottom, not Madam Ros-"

"Whoever runs it now! Just do it!"

The girl looked down again and went back to the register. "Yes, sir, it will be there shortly….May I help the next customer?"

Ron turned away and stalked to a wall, examining the sweets there with unnerving intensity. Gabriel approached him and touched his shoulder. "Master, shall we take a walk outside until they've transported the chocolates to the Three Broomsticks?"

He turned back, angry. "No. Let's just just…just…I dunno. Yes, let's."

He turned and walked hurriedly to the door. Gabriel trailed just a pace behind him, as they strode first to one end of the village and then the other, Ron averting his head to avoid the bunches of children laughing gaily around them.

* * *

The Three Broomsticks is much the same as he remembered it. The smell, the lighting, the blithe chatter in the background. For a moment he sinks back into his chair, lost in the memories. Then there is a clinking of a plate on wood and the ripping of boxes, and he opens his eyes to see Gabriel and Jaycob setting up his table. How fortunate he was to have them both, so loyal. In the past he would have been wary of everyone, even those he'd known for years, those who now in the present were gone…. 

He blinked back tears but knew it was time. This was what he'd been preparing himself for, this was it. He didn't know how it would help, if it had any hope of helping, but he had to do _something_….

"_They wouldn't want you to waste your life like this, Ron," a soft urging voice. "You know they would have wanted you to go on living, I mean-why else did they die, but so the people who _would _survive could live in peace and-"_

He stifled a sob. Gabriel and Jaycob made no sign they'd heard, but finished setting out the chocolates and sweets on the table before him, and then standing back to await orders.

He stretched a trembling hand to the first bit of chocolate near him.

Chocoballs….and a sob rose in his throat again, remembering how at Bill's wedding there had been heaps of the sweet; Fleur had loved them; and how he and Harry and the twins and even _Hermione_ had somehow ended up having a Chocoball fight, soiling their best robes, and how Fleur had protested until Bill had caught her to him, with his dirty hands and all and kissed her forcefully in front of everyone.

Cockroach Clusters now….he had managed to get Ginny to buy some, when she was still at Hogwarts and visited Hogsmeade, and they were at Grimmauld place….and he had gotten George to eat them, and George had shouted and cursed and thrown a tantrum but at the very end he'd forgiven Ron….

….or forgiven him enough to hide some Canary Cream in his biscuits the next night, and how he, Ron, had jumped up and down and swatted his brother with his large wings for the few seconds he was a bird, and afterward Georgehadgrinned and proclaimed a truce.

They had managed a bit of fun, then, in auld Grimmauld Place, even with the war on; he remembered a lazy night with Charlie, when they'd filled the room with balloons from Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and how Remus had walked in and simply smiled at them, a genuine smile no one had seen on Remus for a long time, and then he'djoined in.

He remembered another night with Ginny, the night before she had to go back to Hogwarts, when they and Harry, Hermione, and the twins had gone through Ginny's whole stash of sweets; Fizzing Whizbees, Fudge Flies, Ice Mice, Jelly Slugs, Licorice Wands, Pepper Imps, Peppermint Toads; and they were floating, with small chocolate insects hovering around their heads and their teeth shaking and squeaking, crushing the slugs, waving the wands at each other, and then breathing fire as their stomachs jumped with the toads.

He remembered breakfasting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place one morning, and Fred and George had raced in and begun throwing exploding bon-bons everywhere, disappearing soon afterward so they wouldn't have to clean up their own mess.

Acid Pops…..alike to the ones Fred had given him as a child, and he didn't hesitate now; he put the treat in his mouth and let it burn him. The physical pain was nothing to what he was enduring already, with all these memories.

Gabriel came swiftly and took the Pop out of his hand, healing his tongue, and withdrew as quickly as he had come, leaving Ron to the rest of his treats. Dimly, it seemed through a fog, he saw Gabriel whisper something to Jaycob and Jaycob leave to a window, but now he reached for another treat….

Blood-flavoured lollipops….he'd dared Fred to eat one, and Fred had; and Remus had once again come into the room, and seemed disturbed by the smell of blood; but Fred had thrown some Ton-Tongue Toffees at the older man, and the sight of old Remus with his tongue exploding out of his mouth soon had them all in tears from laughter.

Ron let go and cried, as he reached for the Honeydukes originals; creamy chunks of nougat, that Seamus had enjoyed; pink squares of coconut ice, that Parvati had had with him; honey-coloured toffey that Neville would suck on for hours. All gone, all gone, it wasn't fair, that the candy should be here but the children, that's all they were, the _children_ not….

He remembered someone ordering a gigantic amount of chocolate for Harry birthday, remembered how they'd let loose an army of Chocolate Frogs and wondered aloud, laughing, if they could send the small creatures against the Death Eaters.

He remembered how Hermione had clucked her tongue at all the chocolate, how she had refused to give in and eat with them till Harry and Remus had held her down and Ron put some chocolate in her mouth. He remembered giving Hermione a sugar quill once, and she had been confused as to why it was writing so terribly until it had drifted unconsciously to her mouth and she tasted it; then she'd turned, and thrown it at him, complaining that she had work to do…complaints he soon soothed over with a few light kisses. He remembered Hermione, fully, now, remembered how they'd held each other up through those two years that they searched for the Horcruxes. He remembered their comforting touches, the glances during mealtimes that would make him turn the colour of his hair. He remembered his botched attempt at chocolate gateau, just because she'd mentioned in passing once how much she loved it, and remembered how touched she had been that he had tried to make it, just for her. Hermione, dear Hermione, and now she would never have it again. Neither her nor Harry.

He remembered Harry….and now he dared to remember Harry, remember his best friend, remember their quarrels and best moments….He remembered meeting Harry that day on the Hogwarts express, and what fun they'd had with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, how Harry had tried one even he, Ron, wouldn't. He remembered how Harry had shared Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pastries and everything else he'd bought off the cart with him, Ron, and how grateful Ron had been then. He remembered the other mealtimes when they'd reach for the same dish, or have the last of a dessert and share it. He remembered how dark the times had been with Harry, those two years, the dark times that had been interspersed only with a bit of chocolate now and then.

And now he reached for the last bit of plain chocolate, the type that cost three sickles a pound, it was so cheap….And he remembered fully, everyone and everything. He remembered Remus, who had given them this chocolate after a Dementor attack, Remus Lupin who had nearly fallen to a Dementor but had been saved at the last by Tonks….Saved but they had only a half hour before they were to really fall, but at least they'd had that half hour, everything between them said and acknowledged. He remembered how his Mum and Dad had had only that chocolate, for some days, how they'd carried it around with them and ministered to the patients, such as they were, until one of the patients was false and had killed them both….

He remembered Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins, when they were all boys, how they would fight over chocolate one day but another share everything they had freely. Bill and Charlie, both of whom had died with sons on the way, and Percy, who had finally come back to the family in the end, and who had died embraced by the twins, all of them crying, not for death but for the loss of life, because Ron knew they were different things.

He remembered Ginny, how she had been the last one left, and he'd forbidden her to leave headquarters, he wouldn't risk the chance that at the very end there wouldn't be anyone left with him...But she'd rebelled, of _course_ she had, and now Ginny was gone too...

He remembered his classmates, now, some of whom had quit school with Harry, others who had waited till the end but still joined the Order. They were so young, all of them, so young….Few had survived, very few, and he didn't know now where they were; it had hurt too much too see them before, but now, perhaps….

He remembered Dumbledore, his hero, with that twinkle in his eye, who had been so fond of sweets in general, and who had died before he could see it all completed. Sirius, too, had died before he could see it all completed, Moody and McGonagall also….they were so few now, so few….

He remembered Harry and Hermione, now, after months of not daring to. The chocolate in his mouth was sweet and spoke to him of their kindness, his best friends; how they'd supported each other, crooked tree bracing crooked tree, and somehow they'd done it, they'd killed Voldemort for sure and forever, but now his support was gone, and he was just a crooked tree by himself….

He wept and wept, the chocolate too sweet his mouth, too sweet….not caring even remotely now who was there to see him and what they really saw. That's was all he was now, a broken man at the age of 23, with no one, no one….

But as he thought this he saw a blur of violet, and smelled a soft flowery scent…and he looked up and she was there, but there wasn't any awkwardness in her features now; pity, yes, but there was bound to be pity, and along with it, acknowledgement and relief. She reached to him and he allowed her to cradle his head on her chest, his wet face and dirty mouth. She rocked him gently until his sobs ended, and then she raised his face and looked at him once more. His hand reached up to touch her cheek, she was crying too….They could cry together, for their old classmates, but now, now he would kiss her as he should have done months ago. So he did, the chocolate still on his lips and tears on his cheeks. And it did, everything, it had more than a hope of helping, it did help, and he resolved from that moment to live, as they would have wanted him to.


End file.
